


The fall

by AmyLerajie



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyLerajie/pseuds/AmyLerajie
Summary: You can remember the story about a withered rose, loosing petal after petal until it dies, and you're sure it's part of a bigger story, but it seems that your brain deems the inevitable decay of a beautiful rose more tragic than anything else.





	

The older you get, the less you remember.  
Or maybe it's not that simple. The memories are kind of clear and yet, only the details are there.  
You can remember a story about a withered rose, loosing petal after petal until it dies, and you're sure it's part of a bigger story, but it seems that your brain deems the inevitable decay of a beautiful rose more tragic than anything else.  
If Regis knew, he would probably kill you. Yet he doesn't, and you can trace the edges of his delicate skin, wrinkled like old parchment, touching softly the veins under it, when he falls asleep, exhausted.  
There is no time when the crystal isn't killing him. And time after time, winches after sighs after hidden tears after suffering, you come to the conclusion that you hate that stupid stone.   
That feeling has the strength of your younger days and the melancholic sadness of your old age.  
You remember how the days used to be filled of adventures and laugh, the road endless, exhilarating. It was before you even got married, and your own son's got that age now, the age you had when the future was preordained and yet you dared to dream.  
It was in the timid touch of his fingertips on your skin when you shared a tent, his hand searching yours, pulse skipping for a breath or two. It was in the desperate heat of the moment, the night before your wedding, in the shame and silence after that and in the realization, softer, slower, loving, the night before his.  
You used to dream of what could be yours. You and him and something that couldn't mean together and plural and love.  
It was hunger and shame and reject, when he refused to admit it and you were in love, with two wives, two children and an endless void inside your chest.  
It was hunger and anger and pain when She died and Noctis almost died and you watched him crumble.  
Yet here you are, fingers threading in grey hair, eyes marveling in his beauty, just like that.  
And you are scared tomorrow would be the last petal to fall and this treasured rose you can never really hold will fall, for the last time.  
And it's with the most deep devotion that you kiss familiar lips, softly praying, if not for another day beside him, at least for his last day to be yours, too.  
And you marvel at his bright -sleepy, confused, unfocused- eyes, their blue filling with love, secretly happy that you can see them once again.  
And you are 20, once again, sparring with a stranger, amazed by his skills, inebriated with happiness.  
"Clarus?" He asks, and it's clear that he knows who you are and, instead, is asking a thousand other questions.   
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow it's a big day, peace treaty and all." you say, as softly as you can possibly manage without your voice breaking.  
Regis doesn't answer. He doesn't have to.  
You know.  
And as his arms circle your back, you can hear his fast heartbeat under your ear and the soft fall of the last rose petal.


End file.
